[1] “But now those younger than I mock me, Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock.
[2] Indeed, what good was the strength of their hands to me? Vigor had perished from them.
[3] From want and famine they are gaunt Who gnaw the dry ground by night in waste and desolation,
[4] Who pluck mallow by the bushes, And whose food is the root of the broom shrub.
[5] They are driven from the community; They shout against them as against a thief,
[6] So that they dwell in dreadful valleys, In holes of the earth and of the rocks.
[7] Among the bushes they cry out; Under the nettles they are gathered together.
[8] Fools, even those without a name, They were scourged from the land.
[9] And now I have become their taunt, I have even become a byword to them.
[10] They abhor me and stand aloof from me, And they do not refrain from spitting at my face.
[11] Because He has loosed His bowstring and afflicted me, They have cast off the bridle before me.
[12] On the right hand their brood arises; They thrust aside my feet and build up against me their ways of destruction.
[13] They break up my path, They profit from my destruction; No one restrains them.
[14] As through a wide breach they come, Amid the tempest they roll on.
[15] Terrors are turned against me; They pursue my honor as the wind, And my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.
[16] And now my soul is poured out within me; Days of affliction have seized me.
[17] At night it pierces my bones within me, And my gnawing pains take no rest.
[18] By a great force my garment is distorted; It binds me about as the collar of my coat.
[19] He has cast me into the mire, And I have become like dust and ashes.
[20] I cry out to You for help, but You do not answer me; I stand up, and You turn Your attention against me.
[21] You have become cruel to me; With the might of Your hand You persecute me.
[22] You lift me up to the wind and cause me to ride; And You dissolve me in a storm.
[23] For I know that You will bring me to death And to the house of meeting for all living.
[24] Yet does not one in a heap of ruins stretch out his hand, Or in his disaster therefore cry out for help?
[25] Have I not wept for the one whose life is hard? Was not my soul grieved for the needy?
[26] When I expected good, then evil came; When I waited for light, then darkness came.
[27] I am seething within and cannot relax; Days of affliction confront me.
[28] I go about mourning without comfort; I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help.
[29] I have become a brother to jackals And a companion of ostriches.
[30] My skin turns black on me, And my bones burn with fever.
[31] Therefore my harp is turned to mourning, And my flute to the sound of those who weep.”